


L0ving

by thefirecrest



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, F/F, F/M, Family, Fix-It, Fix-It of Sorts, Gender Dysphoria, Harry Potter Raises Himself, Harry is reborn as all the people he loves, L0ve, Love, Luna knows more than she lets on, M/M, Master of Death, Master of Death Harry Potter, Multi, Platonic Soulmates, Pseudo-Incest, Reincarnation, Soul Bond, Soulmates, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, Unrequited Love, but Harry gets over it eventually, good parenting, in some lives, lives their lives, only sometimes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-07-28
Packaged: 2018-10-04 13:06:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10278866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefirecrest/pseuds/thefirecrest
Summary: Harry’s Love was, is, even more powerful than that of his mother by far. So much so that when the fateful night came and Harry stood strong and deathless, wearing a face that Voldemort sneered at but secretly wished to cower from, and accepted his fate, accepted the green and luminescent avada kedavra with wide arms, he did not in fact wake up in a white King Cross where a grandfatherly Dumbledore would greet him in death.Instead his Love was so powerful it reunited him with his Loved Ones.(A reincarnation story where every time Harry dies, he's reborn as someone important to him. Part One: Cedric, Part Two: Hermione, Part Three: Sirius, Part Four: Luna, Part Five: Lily, etc. etc...)





	1. Prologue

.   .   .   The spell strikes him down, luminescent green filling his vision  .   .   .

.

.

.

And everything is white .   .   .

.

.

.

.

.

.

_“.   .   .   Cedric .   .   .”_

_._

_._

_._

There is something miraculous about love. Of the power He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named knows not of. It is of a distinctly sentient quality, something that exists beyond the realm of the body or survival-of-the-fittest, something that… _manifests_ when two souls brush up against one another in the most intimate of acts possible. Sweet and soft, bitter and sharp, cold and lonely, hot and burning, all these and so much more Love encompases in it’s possessive folds.

And one Harry Potter, so Loved by those all around him, from his closest friends to his supportive godfathers, from his lecturing teachers to his adoring crowds, from the strongest wizard to the smallest house elf. All these beings and more Loved Harry Potter and cherished the idea of him in their minds, souls unconsciously drawing strength from the boy-who-lived while brushing up against him. And Harry?

Well Harry is his mother’s son in more ways than one. The Evans’ lineage may not have had the luxury of wielding the mysterious powers of an unseen world but those of the Evans’ name were a clan of people that attracted the most giving and Loving of souls. These special spirits, reborn in each member of this equally special family, the Evans Loved like no other being could ever hope to Love. It was how Voldemort’s powers failed him that night when he thought to best a powerful witch of the Evans’ clan, rebounded and slain him where he stood, for Love is as deadly and cruel as it is tender. And Harry…

Harry’s Love was, _is,_ even more powerful than that of his mother by far. So much so that when the fateful night came and Harry stood strong and deathless, wearing a face that Voldemort sneered at but secretly wished to cower from, and accepted his fate, accepted the green and luminescent _avada kedavra_ with wide arms, he did not in fact wake up in a white King Cross where a grandfatherly Dumbledore would greet him in death.

Instead his Love was so powerful it reunited him with his Loved Ones.

In the most intimate ways possible, souls brushing up against each other in the womb of life.

_“... Cedric…”_

_._

_._

_._

No. Harry Potter did not revive from death.

Instead he would take a startling breath, and in his ear Mrs. Diggory would coo her newborn son’s name Lovingly, though this was only the beginning of Harry’s reunion with his Loved Ones.

He just didn’t know it yet.


	2. in the beginning the world (my mind) was on fire

“...Cedric…”

… is the first word Harry hears when he wake up. It’s disconcerting, everything is cold yet hot, so very warm and soft, as if someone came and wrapped him up in the most comforting feeling in existence.

But that can’t be possible can it? Harry remembers the last few moments clearly. He remembers the forest, the crunch of dead leaves and branches beneath his worn trainers, the thick deafening silence permeating throughout the clearing that no death eater dared to break, and he remembers _him…_

Bright, cruel, hateful, _insane_ eyes, as red as the waters of life. Except there was no life here, not in those eyes. He-who-must-not-be-named, _Voldemort_ …

… Tom Riddle…

An unloved boy, from an unloved world and had stepped for the first time into a place of magic, of _hope,_ finding instead the same unfair cruelness based not on merit but on the color that would one day paint his gaze. A boy who found solace in the idea of _forevermore,_ of a flight from the inevitable, and he found it in the disgusting act of self mutilation.

Split once.

Split twice.

Split seven times, once too many (or one too many depending on who you confided).

Not only had it robbed the boy of his sanity, that _brilliant_ and beautiful brain that ensnared even those that would otherwise dismiss him, but also of his life, Tom Riddle’s _essence._ If the boy could not love before, then the monster he forged surely could not after.

The boy, so hurt by the world, and decided to hurt himself in its stead (a futile attempt to take control in an uncaring reality), became the monster that would in turn ravage the world in a misguided path to both belong and be untouched. To be surrounded yet lonely, an improbable oxymoron that came to terrible fruition. The monster hurt so many people.

“... Cedric…”

.

.

.

...Yes. That was one person Voldemort had hurt (though it was the rat who threw the spell, Voldemort still lays claim to the deed). Harry isn’t sure why he hears the name now. Shouldn’t he be dead? Slaughtered before the cackling crowd of Death Eaters? Is he dead? Is this what death feels like? Warm and comforting...

If so, Harry wishes that it would never end.

“... Amos, isn’t he just the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen?”

Something warm runs across his head. The sensation is strange, as if a giant hand were caressing him gently.

“He’s _beautiful_ my love. I’m so proud of you, of _us,_ of our sweet sweet boy.”

A pleasant gust of moist heat blows across his cheek and Harry Potter realizes that something is very very off.

“My little Cedric…” The woman coos. “Welcome to the world my sweet child…”

.

.

.

.

Harry isn’t sure how it all happened but somehow, someway, he died in that dreary forest clearing and woke up in the body of a boy he thought long gone.

.

.

.

Coming to terms with being _Cedric Diggory,_ a person Harry feels personally responsible for the death of, is an alarmingly difficult process. And while Harry has somewhat accepted his fate by now it still won’t be for a long time, long after he’s left this life behind, that he’ll even remotely be okay with it all.

Acceptance and being okay with something are two very different things afterall. You can accept the fact that you have cancer, but that doesn’t mean you’ll be okay with it. Because dammit, he’s a-... he’s a...

He’s a bloody _body snatcher._

At least, that’s what he should be even though somehow that term doesn’t sound exactly right…Doesn’t quite encompass what is really happening. Harry doesn’t know for sure, and he honestly doesn’t really care to think about it, but sometimes it feels like the _real_ Cedric Diggory never left. The idea is preposterous and Harry doesn’t spend more than ten minutes pondering it but still…

… Harry Potter doesn’t feel _alone._ And having spent his entire life sharing a headspace with a, albeit unknown at the time, soul fragment of another being he’s basically a bonafide expert on the topic by now. But it’s so much _warmer_ in here than with that pathetic little piece lodged in his forehead and Harry has never been so un-lonely even when utterly by himself.

The feeling is comforting, it’s warmth and love, and it’s a gentle welcoming, non threatening towards Harry’s stay in Cedric’s body. As if something (someone?) were greeting an old friend and it makes Harry want to _cry_ on the best of nights. Because he doesn’t deserve this, not to be treated so kindly in a space not made for him, not when Harry Potter is a…

… bloody body snatcher, a fucking _trespasser,_ an _imperio_ given life, and he can’t get over it no matter how hard he tries to ignore it.

But there is very little Harry can do about it. Especially as a tiny Cedric Diggory.

.

.

.

Harry feels guilty to admit it but he absolutely _loves_ Amos and Bernice Diggory -- _“father” and “mother”._ It’s something that had been deprived from him as Harry Potter, but as _Cedric Diggory_ nothing that Harry had ever wanted is denied to him.

Because Bernice will give him a huge when he wants it, will hold him for hours and hours and tuck him in at night and read him bedtime stories. Seventeen-going-on-twenty-year-old Harry Potter feels like he shouldn’t be so taken by these affectionate acts but there’s something that’s been _starved_ inside of him for so long that he can’t help but seek out all affections he can.

Amos Diggory always pats him on the head and teaches him whatever he wants whenever he wants. Bernice makes it a point to ask him what he wants for dinner. Amos plays games with him. Bernice knits him a sweater. Amos takes him out to a quidditch game. Bernice bakes him a batch of cookies. And Harry is so overjoyed, so guilty, at having all this to himself. It pinches at him during the night and he wonders if Cedric, wherever he is, is cursing Harry’s name for taking this wonderful treatment, for if this is normal life then Harry can’t even begin to imagine what heaven would be like. And he _took_ it, all for himself like a selfish monster.

Then Harry will cry, for himself and for the boy he robbed, and Bernice will appear (because she always knows when her baby boy is crying no matter how far away), will comfort Harry through his tears which only serves to make them fall faster.

But eventually Harry will give into the soft and warm pats and he’ll fall asleep in Cedric’s mother’s lap. She’ll smile down at her sweet child, brush her fingers through his wheat blonde hair, and gently lay him down for sleep.

And even through the haze of deep slumber, Harry can feel the love from his mother emanating down to him, providing him the warmest of dreams in his entire two lives.

.

.

.

.

Harry is three when they introduce him to the Weasleys.

.

.

He really should have expected it honestly. The moment Molly Weasley and Bernice looked away from the boys, two identical faces ( _oh gods, Fred!)_ are grinning mischievously into his own, something round is dropped into his hands.

Before Harry can react the twins are running away, giggling like mad men, and there’s an explosion of brown as whatever was in his hands burst into a cloud of _putrid_ gas particles. Harry gags, coughs, waves his hands futilely to ward off the stinking dungbomb that the twin pranksters (and _of course_ they started their reign of terror so young) set upon him, and races from the nasty smoke stinging at his eyes.

When he emerges from the cloud the twins are bent over, a safe distance away, holding their stomachs as laughter threatens to expel everything inside. And in any other life Cedric Diggory would pout at the pair, feeling hurt and betrayed, and a hand of friendship past casual acquaintanceship would never be lent forwards.

But this is not another life.

Harry stares at the pair, tears streaming down his face but less from the sting of a dungbomb and more from the memories of two people that had meant the world to him. Harry thinks back to those last moments, of racing through Hogwarts, of seeing bravery and fear in equal measure as the students he grew up with took up arms _with him_ to fight off evil, of red hair, a crying Percy Weasley, of a wall crashing down and smothering the life out of one-half of a soul leaving the other to wither and mourn.

He wonders what happened after his own death and thinks to the lonely future George Weasley will have, _has had,_ to live after the death of his twin brother. Wonders if there was anything that could’ve been done to avoid that awful fate.

The twins are now staring at him, probably not expecting the silent, grief-stricken, crying at the practically harmless prank.

“We…” George starts.

“... didn’t mean it,” Fred continues.

“Wos just a prank mate,” they say in unison and Harry begins to cry even harder.

The twins share a look, unsure and pinched. They honestly didn’t think their little prank would make their new friend so upset. Usually people just got mad that them but _this…_ Neither of them had seen anything like this before. But there Cedric stands, eyes shut and head down, the most _painful_ expression on his childish face as if the weight of the world sat on his shoulders.

Fred and George Weasley are troublemakers, that is and will never up for debate. But neither of them are bad people, in fact the two are some of the kindest souls out there. Their pranks may annoy others but at it’s core they’re meant to bring smiles and happiness to those around them, not…

… not _this._

Harry chokes back a heavy sob, feeling a heavy weight suffocating him.

Silently communicating, in the way only soulmates (because that’s exactly what they are) can, the two come to a decision and approaching the mourning boy before them. They ignore the nasty smells emanating from the blonde child and each offer forth a hand.

“The name’s George,” Fred announces.

“I’m Fred,” says George, because they’re unable to resist stirring the pot with twin confusion.

Harry blinks through his tears, hiccups and stares through watery eyes at the two before him. He eyes the hands and looks back up to their freckled faces, his own scrunched up in thought.

“... no your not,” Harry finally says after a moment of silence, voice still thick with grief. The twins’s hands falter for a second but are then shocked at what the new boy says next.

“You’re George,” Harry says pointing at George recognizing the distinctly sterner set to older twin’s brows. He turns to the other bewildered Weasley, discerning the slightly more impish tilt to his lips, “And you’re Fred…” His voice trails off as tears threaten to overcome him again. Gods he’s such a crybaby, he doesn’t remember crying so much in his last life, even on the harshest nights starving in his lonely little cupboard.

The twins look at each other then turn back to the new boy with suspicion in their eyes.

“Did Mother…” asks Fred.

“... put you up to this?” George finishes.

It’s Harry’s turn to look bewildered. He looks between them, back and forth,, emotions heavy and unidentifiable filling his chest, and somehow, miraculously, he begins laughing. Though his face is still red and wet from bawling something bubbles up in the reincarnated boy and he can’t restrain the sudden bitter-happiness that wells up within him. The twins can only watch in confusion as the strange boy begins to laugh, louder and louder with each passing second.

George looks to Fred startled, “Gred. I think he’s gone completely bonkers.”

“I must agree Forge,” Fred nods his head sagely. “Bloody mad this one.” Which only prompts Harry to laugh louder drawing the attention of their mothers from within the Barrow.

Once Molly picks up on the smell and expertly deduces what had happened she scolds the twins loudly (to which both just stand there and ignore) and apologizes profusely to Bernice Diggory and her now smelly son. Bernice only smiles and says it was no trouble at all and actually thanks the Weasleys in turn because she hasn’t seen her little Ced so happy in a long time (hasn’t seen his eyes light up nearly so bright nor so weightless in his posture). She vows to have the boys set up a playdate again.

Thus begins the start of a beautiful friendship.

.

.

“Don’t suppose we could change…”

“... your hair orange? Can you imagine their faces?”

“With _three_ of us running around?” A pair of identical giggles.

Then an exasperated but fond sigh, “Your Mum already considers you two lost causes. Don’t drag me down with you, as least she _likes me_.”

“Well that’s just rude isn’t it Forge?”

“Right you are Gred, I think wittle Ced needs to be taught a wittle lesson don’cha think?”

“Wait- What are you guys-?”

“Better start running Diggory…”

“Eep-! I-I’ll tell your Mum!”

“Hmm… How was it you put it Ced…”

“... _lost causes?_ Indeed.”

“Oi! Keep your hands to yourselves you demons! Haaahaahaaha- Oi! Hahah-! Stobbit- hah-ahhaahaa-!”

“You’re the one….”

“... who wanted to be our friend ickle ‘ric!”

“Hahah-!! I hate---hahaaa- you both!”

.

.

Bill and Charles Weasley aren’t sure what to make of their younger brother’s newest friend (their only friend some would say). To them, it seems like a very unlikely friendship. The twin are nefariously full of mischief and cause trouble in nearly all aspects of life, little Cedric Diggory is a quiet and polite young boy seemingly without a disobedient bone in his body.

Yet the twins, for some reason, accept the blonde boy into their exclusive folds in a way they have never let anyone else in, even their own family. It’s no secret that the twins share a tight bond, impenetrable by anyone else… Anyone else but apparently Cedric Diggory. To outsiders it may appear as if little Cedric is but a shadowed third wheel in their little tricycle of a party, but to those that have known the twins for a long time they can see that it’s more than that.

Cedric is as much a part of the twins as they are each other. He follows them around like an adorable puppy, yes, but Diggory also keeps the twins out of trouble. In exchange Fred and George guard their solemn friend zealously and possessively, ready to take up arms at the smallest of slights to the blonde boy, as if he were a delicate flower instead of a regular boy.

But he isn’t a delicate flower at all because the strangest thing of all maybe that Diggory himself seems to fiercely protect the twins in turn, despite his placid demeanor, whether the twins realize it or not.

Even having lived with the two for so long, the rest of the Weasley family still don’t know terribly much about the twins. It’s easy for an accidental spurn against the two to go unnoticed and un-apologized for. The twins are good at hiding their true feelings and emotions, behind plotting grins and impish faces. The first time Bill and Charles witnessed the exception to this -- that exception being Cedric Diggory -- it was an eye opening experience.

Percy probably didn’t mean anything by it when he mentioned a passing comment about the twins that no one thought twice about. Fred and George didn’t seem bothered by it at all.

But then Cedric, six at the time and over for one of his biweekly playdates, stood abruptly from the table and demanded that Percy apologize to Fred and George.

Percy had been flummoxed, blindsided by the sudden demand from the normally quiet boy who he only knows as “that weird kid that likes to hang out with his little brothers”. George and Fred had tried to laugh it off but Cedric was having none of it and demanded again, cheeks kissed with red, grey eyes burning with fire, that Percival apologize for hurting their feelings and for being so unthoughtful.

Truth be told, everyone in the room at the time had been confused and shocked into silence. No one thought that anything was wrong. But so bemused was Percy at the time that he ended up following the blonde’s order mindlessly and apologized to the twins, not even knowing what he had done wrong in the first place. Satisfied, Cedric had sat back down and continued on with his doodlings as if nothing had happened at all.

Then the most miraculous thing occurred. Fred and George had simultaneously stood up and herded their friend away from the room. Bill thought that he may have heard one of them whisper a thank you to their unlikely friend. But all anyone could be sure of is that both Weasley boys had the most warm expressions smoothed across their faces as they regarded the blonde boy when the three walked out of the room.

Soulmates do not need glue to hold them together. Yet somehow, Cedric Diggory still assumed that role in their exclusive party of three.

.

.

.

“Mum,” Harry mumbles through the haze of deep sleep. Bernice pauses in her cooking (herself that is, the pot continues to stir and the knives continue to chop regardless), turns to her sweet boy, seven now, and gives him her full undivided attention. She plucks him easily from the ground, as if he weighed less than the air itself, and hoisted him on her hip. The angle is somewhat awkward, for as light as Cedric is his limbs are growing, gangly and long, and it won’t be long before holding her precious boy will be a frustrating practice in futility. She’ll enjoy it while she can.

“Yes luv?”

Harry buries his face into her neck, breaths in her scent, and feels strong emotions well up within him. There should be no difference in scent between humans in general, not by human senses at least, but somehow the fragrance of Bernice is distinctly that of a mother. It’s all love and comfort and everything happy in life. It’s a smell that Harry had been denied for all his last life, and finally found it here in the arms of someone else’s mother. The scent is bittersweet. Harry basks in it with joy anyways.

“Dank ooo…” He mumbles incoherently into her the dip of her collar bone. Bernice understands anyways. She’ll always understand.

“What for sweetheart?” She giggles at his sleepy antics, but the curiosity is still there. Bernice doesn’t recall doing anything particular recently that would warrant an expression of gratitude.

Harry looks up then, and stares at his ( _their_ ) mother with earnest Cedric-gray eyes. Bernice nearly gasps at the sight of all those swirling emotions, far too complex and deep for a child of his age, that seem to pierce right through her soul. A spear of feeling, emotion, of _soul_ staring and meeting and brushing right up against her own.

“Thank you for being my mom.”

.

.

.

Sometimes Bernice wonders what she did to be blessed with such a Loving child.

.

.

.

.

.

Luna Lovegood was an unexpected surprise.

Her response to him even more.

“Yeah know Ced…” Fred muses. “If you don’t take the initiative…”

“... we can’t let you run pranks with us at Hogwarts.” George completes with a slight twist up to his lip. “S’not like anyone will actually get mad ya’know.” He fiddles with a bag of turquoise green belch powder then tosses it over to his brother who catches it with a smirk.

Harry rolls his gray eyes, “I’m not gonna piss off your brothers if I can avoid it.” The three of them are camped on the landing of the staircase of the Barrow, looking down at the gathering of Weasley boys playing wizarding chess in the living room. It’s a bit amazing, Harry thinks, that even at such a young age Ron is already very good at the game (a game that still baffles Harry to this day). The youngest Weasley boy isn’t winning of course, but sure is giving Weasley Senior quite the run for his money.

“Common Ced, it s’not like Perc will mind,” Fred says with a tone that doesn’t sound like he believes anything he’s saying at all. “It’ll do him some good anyways right Gred?”

“Right Forge,” George nods his head wisely. He eyes Harry with twinkling brown orbs, “It’ll be like your initiation. You always somehow wheedle your way out of doing pranks with us. How’do you do that anyways?” George frowns.

Fred lets out a laugh and claps Harry on the back, much to the boy’s bland amusement, “That’s ‘cause our Ced is talented, isn’t that right?” Now Fred is staring intently at Harry. “Master of sneak!” He lets out a longing sigh, “If only you’d use your talents for good.”

Harry playfully shoves the redhead off him, “ _Good._ Right. Of course.” He rolls his eyes again, voice dripping with sarcasm. These two are a bad influence. “And I’m sure that your brother would so _appreciate_ me doing so to him. I doubt he’s forgiven me for last year anyways…”

“Perc was being a…”

“... snot anyways.”

Harry snorts.

“You two are snots.”

The twins grin at each other, “That we are Cedric dear. That we are.”

It’s at this moment that the sound of the Weasley vehicle pulling up to the Burrow is heard. Arthur looks up from his game with his son (he might actually lose this game, might’as well quit now before that embarrassment) and excuses himself from the table, stepping to the door to greet his wife. Ron makes a noise of complaint but is ignored. Percy hides a snicker, because proper boys don’t gloat.

A young Ginny Weasley bursts into the house, face sour and red. She immediately makes her way to the stairs and stomps her way up, not even pausing for a moment to give the three boys crouched on the landing a spare look. Harry feels a pang of longing as she passes by, and thinks back to the beautiful woman he left behind. The sound of her bedroom door slamming shut echos throughout the house.

Arthur greets his wife with a kiss and offers her a puzzled look, “Is everything alright?”

Molly sighs and waves a hand to cool the air, “Oh, Ginny is just… Well…” The sound of the door opening again is heard and Harry looks up in interest, wondering who else could be entering the Weasley abode. His eyes widen slightly at the sight of feathery blonde hair. Mrs. Weasley turns down the the newest guest. “I’m sorry Luna dear. I promise to have a talk to Ginerva, the nerve of that girl sometimes but she normally isn’t like this…”

One Luna Lovegood, only four at the time, offers the woman a dazed smile, “Oh that’s quite alright Mrs. Weasley. It’s understandable, Ginevra does have the most lovely collection of Heliopaths I’ve ever seen. Of course one of the effects can be a slight temper so I don’t take offense.” Her wide pearly eyes wander lazily around the room, aware but not quite there.

Molly can only return a bemused smile, “O-of course dear…” She seems to be at a loss of what to do with the strange child. “Would you like anything to eat? Drink perhaps?”

Luna hums, “No thank you. I’m afraid my appetite isn’t all here yet. Nargles aren’t often known to steal appetites but it isn’t entirely unheard of. I shall just have to wait for them to return it.”

Arthur Weasley blinks owlishly, “A whot?”

“A Nargle,” Luna explains in her bell like voice. “They’re quite mischievous little things and like to live in mistletoes. They’re always stealing things when you least expect it.” She looks around in her dazed fashion, “It looks as if you’ve got a bit of an infestation.” No one can quite pinpoint exactly what she’s staring at, “Things must go missing here often. It’s no worries though, my mother taught me how to make a repellent. I’ll make one for you and I’m sure they’ll be gone in no time at all.”

“Nargles?” Arthur asks, still confused.

Luna nods, “Nargles.”

“Blimey,” Ron mutters softly under his breath from the table where his chess game was forgotten. “This one’s mad isn’t she.”

But not softly enough because in the next second comes a snappy “Ronald Weasley!” from Molly. Though the Weasley Matriarch herself seems at quite a loss in concern to the strange blonde child they invited into their home. The atmosphere in the Burrow is awkward and heavy, no one knowing exactly what to do.

Luna looks around the room, her pearly eyes pausing on the landing and lighting up with joy. “Harry!” She calls out jubilantly and starts to make her way across the room, dancing gracefully around furniture, as willowy as a fairy child.

Cedric’s eyes widened as he watches the strange girl skip up the stairs towards him. Fred and George on either side on him bristle in apprehension when the strange little girl throws her arms around their friend, the boy tense with shock.

Luna pulls back and smiles brightly at him, “Oh Harry. It’s really been too long, though I knew we would meet again. I had no idea you would be here today though.”

Harry stares into her old friend’s eyes at a loss for words, unidentified emotions swirling heavily in his chest, his mouth hangs open uselessly as he struggles to find the words to express what he is feeling.

Finally he croaks out, “I-I’m Cedric…”

Luna cocks her head to the left and appraises him, misty pale blue eyes sharpening into focus, and Harry feels as if her gaze were piercing straight into his soul. He longed to avert his own eyes but found that he could not look away.

“No,” Luna says softly. “You are not Cedric. Not yet.” Her voice is a delicate soprano, green and young with only her tone alluding to her age and wisdom, and just loud enough for Harry to hear. He feels shaken by it. Feels _seen_ in a way that he hasn’t been in a long time. Feels vulnerable and shy. He asks.

“Are- are you also… also um…” He doesn’t say the word he wants to say. Isn’t ready to voice his fears, his dirty little secret, the rolling _r_ stubbornly clutching to his tongue refusing to be spoken.

But Luna looks like she understands anyways, and smiles kindly to Harry. Her arms are warm and comforting around him, supporting the shaken boy from his shivering and grief. “I’m not,” she says. “But I know.”

“How?”

Her face is dazed again, unfocused eyes looking far beyond this reality to a place ordinary people could never hold witness. She shrugs light and dainty, pale blonde locks shifting with the movement. She offers no explanation, doesn’t need to, is _unable_ to, because she isn’t like Harry Potter. Isn’t reincarnated, isn’t the same girl he knew a lifetime ago. She’s just Luna, four years old with a crazy father and a Loving mother and eager to make new friends as unwilling Ginevra Weasley is.

She just happened to recognize a sad little boy who knew her in some other life. And Luna Lovegood wasn’t so cruel as to deny a friend like that, even if he wasn’t technically her friend. She was _his_ friend though and he deserved for her to put in the effort to return the favor.

Luna smiles at Harry, holds the now tearful boy closer and hugs him tight while the rest of the Weasley family watches on with bewildered stares.

.

.

.

Any desire to befriend Ginny again in this life is firmly squashed by the red head’s stubborn insistence to stay away from Luna, much to Cedric’s dismay. Luna of course, is perfectly welcoming of the youngest Weasley but her friendship with Harry has shoved a wedge between the boy and his former girlfriend.

This was just fine to the Weasley twins of course, who both begrudgingly allowed the blonde girl three years their junior to join in on their little makeshift group. Neither of them are particularly close to the blonde but since Cedric forged such a strong attachment to her -though he denies having ever known the girl before that fateful day- the two of them do put some effort to include her on their activities.

And their schemes.

To their utter surprise, the strange girl they invited into their group -strangeness only rivaled by Cedric’s- has a mischievous streak to match their own. Much to their delight, and Harry’s chagrin, young Luna Lovegood readily took up their philosophy to sow mayhem in everyday life.

Which of course, only fuels young Ginny’s aversion to the girl.

The twins eventually grow rather fond of the weird child, excited at having a new playmate that’ll indulge them in their mischief making, which she does with airy bell-like giggles and that Cedric can only respond in groans.

“You’ve both corrupted her!”

“Such accusations!” George gasps with a hand clutching his chest dramatically, eight now, and growing ever more sly in he and his brother’s schemes. Harry swears the two of them should’ve been sorted into Slytherin, and the only reason they weren’t (now that he’s spent a majority of his time with the Weasleys) was because of the obvious discrimination against the house of snakes in their household. “You wound me Ced.” George turns to Luna who sits curled up on the couch above them, “What says you Looney?”

The four are seated in the living room of the Diggory abode.

Luna tilts her head at the question, unfazed by the cruel nickname because she knows that it’s said with affection, her signature airy smile playing at her lips, “Of course not Har. Where would you get such an idea?” There’s a playful pitch at the corner of her mouth, “I’m not so bad am I? It must be all the wrackspurts clouding your thinking. Should I prepare you a new pair of turnip earrings?”

“What a terrific idea Looney!” Fred exclaims, “I’m sure Ced would really appreciate another one of those!”

“Simply brilliant,” George praises. “Luna you are wonderfully brilliant.”

Luna flushes under the attention and gives a half curtsey from her seat on the couch, somehow still gracefully performing the action despite her awkward positioning. “Why thank you.”

Cedric groans, “You three are insufferable.”

“But you love us…”

“... anyways.”

He shoots the twins a half hearted glare as they begin to laugh it up, Luna hums delightedly from the sofa.

Bernice Diggory steps into her living room and watches the children chatter fondly.

“Alright children,” she says as she adjusts the bag hanging from her arm. “Are you all ready to leave?” Her question is met with an affirmative chorus so she herds the four towards the floo. “You all remember what to do?”

“Yes Mum,” Cedric says happily as he leans into her warmth. She wraps an arm loosely around his lanky frame and gives her son an affectionate side-hug.

Then one-by-one, starting with the twins, they all took turns in the floo to Diagon Alley.

Cedric coughs when he lands, swiping furiously at his robes to shake off any remaining floo particles. The twins share a laugh briefly at his expense from his terribly ungraceful entrance while the two females of their party emerge from the fireplace fluidy behind him, not a speck of dust in sight.

It must be magic, Harry thinks bitterly. How is it that he’s always filthy when using the floo but the girls are always spotless? He would much prefer to fly around everywhere on a broomstick.

Speaking of which…

The destination of the day is none other than Quality Quidditch Supplies, a shop the boys have been dying to go to. Harry even more so as he remembers those glory days of sweeping through the sky, champion seeker of the Gryffindor quidditch team. The euphoric freedom of soaring through the air, untethered by gravity, bound to nothing. In flying is the truest form of freedom, an act which grants the flyer liberty from all heartaches in life even for just a moment. It’s something Harry thinks he’ll always love, something that’ll always hold a special spot in his heart.

Also, Amos Diggory promised him his first broom come the 24th of June, his birthday, which happens to be merely two weeks apart from today.

The three boys charge into the shop, Luna and Bernice walking more sedately behind them, the young Lovegood not nearly as interested in quidditch as her trio of friends. Fred immediately rushes off to fawn over the sleek -and expensive- display of the Siberian Arrow (a one of a kind and top of the line racing broom of Nordic make, that even a year and a half after it’s debut still holds the first place in broom standings). George and Cedric make a beeline for the shelf of mainstream Quidditch magazines, both picking up their own copy of _IWQ The Magazine_ (or: _International World Quidditch; The Magazine)._

The bell to the shop rings.

“ _Look_ father, it’s a gaggle of blood traitors!”

“Now Draco…”

Harry’s head snaps up at the familiar tone, much higher pitched but with just as much haughtiness, and catches a glimpse of platinum blood, an arrogant sneer, the licking flames eating everything in its path, rich fabrics of expensive robes, the silver sparkles of a diadem on his head, the shadows of his broom dancing in the light of Fiendfyre, Hermione shouting at him, oh gods Crabbe is _dead_ , falling _falling MerlinhelphimMalfoyisgoingtodie-!_

“-dric! **Cedric**! Are you alright?!”

And then he’s back in the Quidditch shop. The air is cool and there’s no sight of suffocating shadows and consuming flames trying to catch him and eat him alive. The crackling of the fire is replaced by thick deafening silence. Harry is staring up at the ceiling, mind blank and failing to come to terms with what just happened.

_(Oh gods he just had a flashback…)_

There’s two pairs of hands on him, four in total, one holding his head up, another grasping at his hands, one comfortingly on his shoulder, and another on his forehead. Aside from the white roof of the shop, where charmed paintings of quaffles and snitches are flying around leaving behind trails of fading stars, he can see the worried gazes of four brown eyes staring down at him. Lips are pulled down and brows of furrowed.

Fred and George Weasley hold their dear friend close, hearts beating like hummingbirds in unison, both attempting to fly away and leap into their throats.It’s horrifying, it’s terrible, it’s stressful and neither boys want to ever experience it again.

Never want to see Cedric suddenly collapse to the floor like a puppet cut from it’s strings, a banshee scream on his lips, and no sight of those Loving blue eyes as they roll to the back of his head. Never wants to feel such true terror ever again.

Bernice crowds around the boys (Lucious and his son having left the scene hurriedly), gently pulls aside stunned hands from stunned Weasley boys, and with a strength only a mother in distress can achieve, effortlessly pulls her baby from the ground and into her arms. In her other hand she summons a patronus (a glowing white salmon) and sends it off towards the Barrow with a message to let Molly know that she has left the three other children at the Quidditch shop, quickly informs the owner of the situation to leave the kids, and apparates away.

.

.

.

The medi witch at St Mungo’s tells them that she cannot find anything physically wrong with their baby Cedric.

Too bad no one knew to look for PTSD.

.

.

.

.

The episode doesn’t happen again.

But that doesn’t mean Harry doesn’t feel _awful_ about worrying everyone like that. Doesn’t really understand what happened or why he seemed to snap back in time like that, knows that it has something to do with Malfoy and the very last time he saw the pureblood (amongst flames and death), briefly considers that maybe some kind of time curse has been placed on him, but quickly throws the theory out and just wishes that he could have Hermione with him right then.

Hermione would have the answers to this dilemma.

The worst part is that Amos had been so frightened out of his mind that Harry is barley allowed out of the house. Even Bernice, his usually understanding mother, is hesitant to let the eight-year-old out yet, especially since the problem has not been found. But this just means that he cannot see Fred and George and Luna, cannot explain to his young and easily frightened friends that he’s fine ( _heisnotfine_ ) and cannot help them.

Harry doesn’t want them to worry.

It takes entirely much too long for him to be allowed over at the Barrow again (mostly due to Amos having to go to work more recently due to a sudden influx of the werewolf population thus had no time to argue), but it seems almost worth it when he first steps onto the property and is promptly bombarded from both side from the twins.

The hug him tight and whisper their worries for him and he gently laughs and reassures him that he’s fine ( _notfinedefinitlynotfine_ ).

Then something catches his eye.

“Oh,” Fred explains. “That’s just some dumb rat-”

“-Percy found last week. He calls it Scabbers.”

He stands there frozen in spot in the middle of the Barrow kitchen, watches through the kitchen door to where young Percy Weasley is entertaining himself by feeding small bread crumbs to a fat gray rat in a cage, thinks for the first time in this life to an innocent man trapped _right now_ in a godforsaken hell hole hundreds of miles away, feels _guilt_ surge through his body, feels that guilt _washed away_ by a tsunami of _fury_.

Cedric Diggory stares into the Weasley living room at Peter Pettigrew's unknown animagus and Harry Potter’s soul _burns._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I am cutting it short here. This has been sitting forever on my computer unfinished and urgh, I just needed to hurry and post it already. It isn’t nearly as long as I had hoped (I wanted to at least get to Hogwarts) but this is fine (well actually I was a little disappointed towards the end), at least I got it out.
> 
> Anyways, I hope you all enjoyed! (As sucky as the end is) And the next update probably won’t be in forever.
> 
> -TheFirecrest

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure where exactly I'm going with this. I have a very general idea for each life Harry is reborn in (mostly Hermione's, Sirius', and Lily's), and I'm not sure how long each part will be either... Hopefully no more than like five chapters for each person (though I'm aiming for around three). This is an exploration of Harry's relationships with all the people have have profoundly affected his life in someway as well as the relationships between characters that we don't always get to see through canon!Harry's life.  
> As a note: None of Harry's reincarnations exist at the same time. What I mean is that after Harry's has lived as Sirius and is eventually reborn as Lily Evans, the Sirius that exists when he's his mother is not Harry. Harry will never run into himself with the exception of canon!Harry.


End file.
